


My Tears Ricochet

by avan337



Series: The Folklore Chronicles [2]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avan337/pseuds/avan337
Summary: Companion piece to Illicit Affairs
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Series: The Folklore Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867309
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	My Tears Ricochet

> **My Tears Ricochet**  
>  by Taylor Swift
> 
> _We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room  
>  And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too  
>  Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe  
>  All the hell you gave me?  
>  'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you  
>  'Til my dying day_
> 
> _I didn't have it in myself to go with grace  
>  And you're the hero flying around, saving face  
>  And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?  
>  Cursing my name, wishing I stayed  
>  Look at how my tears ricochet_
> 
> _We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean  
>  Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring  
>  You know I didn't want to have to haunt you  
>  But what a ghostly scene  
>  You wear the same jewels that I gave you  
>  As you bury me_
> 
> _I didn't have it in myself to go with grace  
>  'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave  
>  And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?  
>  Cursing my name, wishing I stayed  
>  Look at how my tears ricochet_
> 
> _And I can go anywhere I want  
>  Anywhere I want, just not home  
>  And you can aim for my heart, go for blood  
>  But you would still miss me in your bones  
>  And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky)  
>  And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)_
> 
> _I didn't have it in myself to go with grace  
>  And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves  
>  You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same  
>  Cursing my name, wishing I stayed  
>  You turned into your worst fears  
>  And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain  
>  Crossing out the good years  
>  And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed  
>  Look at how my tears ricochet_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Britta of all people who told him, the member of the study group she was least closest to. But they were worried about his reaction, and she was the only one who was still living in Greendale, so there she was. Her face was red, eyes puffy, throat raw from crying. Jeff thought it was her parents at first, then maybe Troy. When Britta said her name, followed by _car crash_ and _nothing they could do_ , he went into a state of shock. There were no tears.

Over the next hours and days he found himself talking about details, offering to pick up Shirley from the airport, helping her father with the paperwork to get her body transported across state lines.

The remaining members of the original study group met at her old apartment, where Britta still lived. They toasted her and took turns sharing memories. Shirley mentioned their senior prank; Abed brought up sophomore year paintball and the Dreamatorium. Britta talked about the time she needed her to stay away from Blade. 

After a while Shirley made the comment that _surely Jeff had the most stories and wouldn’t he want to share?_ Jeff had been screaming inside of his brain. He didn’t want to hear their stories, he didn’t want to share. He didn’t want to talk about her, or think about her, or feel anything. But like a robot he opened his mouth and talked about Professor Professorson, the yam trial and the Ass Crack Bandit. He finished with a classic Winger speech about holding onto memories, and each other, that left them all in tears, even Abed. But not him.

Later that night, he sat on his couch drinking scotch and remembering things the others never knew about. The months of clandestine meetings; how he ended it after he graduated early, the shock and hurt on her face when he casually told her it was over. The strangled conversation over coffee when they both returned to Greendale the following year, agreeing to forget the past and be friends again. Their kiss in the study room before she left for her internship. The text he sent two months later, telling her it was time for both of them to grow up and move on. He never answered her texts or calls after that. He could barely remember the sound of her voice. Still no tears.

The casket was open at the wake. She was laying there, as beautiful as ever. Jeff stood over her for a long time, trying to feel anything but angry: angry that she was gone, angry that he was still here, angry that he ever knew her at all. When Rich came up and offered his condolences, it was all Jeff could do not to punch him.

Frankie tried to say a few words at the service, but she was crying too hard to get through her speech. Frankie, who barely felt an emotion much less expressed one, was inconsolable. Unable to handle the silence, pierced only by the sound of weeping, Jeff got up and finished her remarks. He was the only one with a dry eye when they left.

A few days after the others had all gone, Frankie showed up at his place carrying a tote bag. It seemed her father had asked Frankie to go through the belongings from her apartment in D.C. The tote bag contained several journals, which for some reason Frankie thought he needed to read. He tried to say no but she had been determined, placing the bag on a chair and leaving without saying another word.

After she left, Jeff walked toward the bag as if it was a tiger waiting to pounce. He tentatively reached in and pulled out the books. He flipped through one labeled 2011, purple ink filling the pages. He sat back on the couch and started reading.

_Jeff told me he thought it was bad-ass of me to go after Pierce for double crossing him. That made me feel a little better, along with the waffles at Denny’s! But I hate the idea of losing anyone from the group, even Pierce. Maybe he’ll come around over the summer._

He smiled at the memory of her sitting next to him at Denny’s, orange paint still in her hair, lost in thought. Jeff knew she was worried about Pierce, so he pretended to steal her waffles to make her laugh.

He picked up the next one: 2012.

_I’m so glad Abed and Troy are back to being friends again! Jeff tried to play off what he did, but I know it was important to him, too. Troy and Abed have become like brothers to me, especially since I hardly ever get to see Anthony. I guess that’s why I hold on to the group so tightly: they’re my family now._

The 2013 book started off in purple ink but finished in black.

_It’s weird how protective Jeff can be of me. It’s as if he thinks he’s the only one allowed to hurt me. Why do I let him? I used to wonder how I got so lucky that Jeff Winger ever noticed me. Now I wish I had never kissed him that night at the Transfer Dance._

He refused to let his mind wander back to that night, to that kiss. He kept going.

2014 was a simple black-and-white composition book: gone were the pink flowers and rainbows.

 _Jeff ended it. I should feel relieved, and I do. I’m grateful one of us was finally able to do it, but it still hurts. And I still hate myself for not doing it first.  
\----------------------------  
Jeff called, wanting to meet. He actually called! I guess eight months of being his side piece earned me a phone call. I am glad we cleared the air. If we’re all going to be back at Greendale, we owe it to ourselves, and the others, to try and be friends. We’ll see how long that lasts…_

Jeff felt his throat tighten. Quickly tossing the journal aside, he got up and drank some water. He paced the length of his couch, staring down at the pile lying there. Reading her personal thoughts felt wrong. Not because it was an invasion of her privacy, though it was, but because it was reminding him of everything she was. Everything she ever was to him, to their circle of friends, to the world. The loss was more real in her words than it was looking at her in the casket.

Taking a deep breath, he sat back down and picked up 2015.

_I should be writing about how excited I am to be interning with the FBI in D.C. this summer, but something strange happened. Jeff told me he let me go, but basically that he still wants me. I think he might even love me. WTF? After all this time, after all the hell he gave me, now he says this? And we kissed (my idea, again)._

_I want to be able to just walk away, to pretend I don’t care, but I can’t. I still love him. Or I love him again; I don’t even know anymore. I’m not sure what the future holds, but I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, Jeff will be in it._  
\---------------------------------------------  
_I’m not going back to Greendale after my internship ends. Jeff made it pretty clear that he’s done, so I have to be, too. Sometimes I think about calling him, just to tell him I’m staying, but there’s no point in humiliating myself. Instead I have conversations with him in my head. I either yell at him, or tell him about my day, or beg him to tell me why he won’t even try. I hear from Frankie that he’s still drinking too much and doing the bare minimum of work to get by. I worry about him, but I know there’s nothing I can say or do to help. I will do what he said we both need to do: grow up and move on._

He could feel his eyes begin to sting. He flipped quickly through 2016, barely noting her job successes, nights out with friends or guys she dated. Picking up 2017, the last one, he landed on an entry from just a few months ago.

_It’s always great catching up with Shirley, hearing about how the boys are growing and how her business is doing. But she’s the only one who ever mentions Jeff. I think Abed and Britta finally got the picture ages ago, but Shirley keeps asking if I’ve heard about his job with the new law firm, or did I know he finally replaced that old Lexus?_

_I know she doesn’t mean any harm, and really, it shouldn’t matter anymore. Yet it does. He’s the reason I won’t apply for a transfer back home, why I’m looking at California to be closer to Abed. I haven’t spoken to or seen Jeff Winger in two years, but I still love him. I don’t know how to quit. How do you stop loving someone, when loving them seems to have become woven into the thread of who you are? I will keep moving on with my life, will probably get married, but I’ve given up on the idea that I’ll ever quit loving Jeff. When I’m old and gray, and telling stories to my grandkids, he’ll be the one who got away._

It took Jeff seeing the teardrop land on the page to realize he was crying. He thought of her writing this in her apartment, with that determined look on her face, thinking about her future. A future that was gone.

As the tears came unabated, he curled into himself on the couch. He cursed the driver who hit her. He cursed her for ever leaving, and for not coming back. But mostly he cursed himself. He had wasted so much time, had been so stupid. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. 

He cried until his stomach ached. He cried until he fell asleep. He cried for her.


End file.
